To Find a Home
by icesk8ter14
Summary: Santana Lopez is left alone in the world when her father drinks himself to death and she's uprooted from her home in Chicago,sent to live with her last remaining relatives in Wisconsin. Can an unexpected friend make her question her definition of home, and love? Or is she hiding something that could take her from Santana forever? Brittana! AU Historical Fic M for future chapters
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi everyone! I'm not going to have a super long authors note at the beginning of every chapter, just wanted to have a little explanation.**

**This fic is going to be an AU historical fiction based in the early 1900s (which I will do my best to be accurate with, but I'm not a history buff so just enjoy the story). It's set in the region of WI where I grew up, a beautiful place full of rivers and rolling hills and forests, so I based it there because it's beautiful, I know a ton about it, and I can.**

**There's going to be a bit of my personal experience sprinkled in, yes, I really did fall hopelessly in love with my beautiful, sweet, optimistic, blond-haired, blue-eyed best friend, so my feelings will hopefully shine through a bit and add some real emotion to the story.**

**This is the first fic I'm committing myself to finishing if anyone shows interest, and I have no idea how long it's going to be. I will try to updat fairly regularly, so bear with me.**

**Lastly, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter 1

A dark head of hair rests against the cool glass of a train window as a sullen girl watches the world rush by. She'd left Chicago, the only home she'd ever know, behind hours ago, and she was already tired of this miserable trip.

Her papí may have been absolutely useless by the time he finally drank himself to death, but he was the only family she'd ever known. Her mother had died when she was very small, and her papí's family had remained in Mexico, refusing to acknowledge his existence after he left.

Santana had always supposed that his problem had begun after her mother's death, it had torn him apart. _Your mother was an angel_, he said, _beautiful and gentle and sweet. _She wished she remembered her mother with all her heart, but she had always resented that she wasn't enough for her papí. Not enough for him to stop drinking to take care of her, not enough for him to make the effort to keep a job to take care of her. She always tried to be the best little girl she could be, to be just like her mother, but it was never good enough.

Despite the fact that they'd always struggled, she had managed to attend school until the sixth grade, and she always had enough to eat. The last time her father had been fired for showing up drunk to a construction site though, she had finally dropped out of school and gotten a job as a maid for a nice, middle aged couple in one of the nicer parts of town. Regardless of the fact that she was only half Latina, it was the only work she could get.

She made good money with the Schuesters, and every once in a while, if he got home early, Mr. Schuester would run through a lesson or two with her that he had taught that day at the local high school. He seemed sorry that she couldn't attend, but much to her disappointment the lessons had been slowing in frequency for some time now, as Mr. Schuester was home less and less. She suspected it was because his wife was home more and more, as her friends seemed to be neglecting to include her in their outings. She supposed she couldn't blame them, Mrs. Schuester had a bit of an unnerving vacant stare, and her personality could be a bit grating.

Altogether, she knew she was lucky to have the job though. It was the only solid income for their household, especially as her papí's drinking habit's had been worsening for the past few years.

_That won't be a problem anymore thought, I suppose._

The morbid, satirical thought had flashed through her mind before she could stop it. She had loved her papí, but the man she had seen wasting away on their couch drowning himself in moonshine and subsisting on whatever she brought home as leftovers from the Schuester's dinners was not the same one who had once bought her lemonade and taken her to the shores of Lake Michigan for Independence Day.

So now she sits here, alone, on a trains hurtling away from everything she's ever known, towards some river town in southwestern Wisconsin to live with her only remaining family, her mother's sister and her husband, whom she'd never met. From the one short letter she'd received with the train ticket, they'd seemed kind enough, but she still wasn't exactly thrilled to be leaving the bustle of city life to live miles away from any civilization to speak of.

...

She's lost in thought and startles when a dark skinned girl sits down in the seat next to her.

"You ridin' alone?" she asks amicably.

She simply nods, noticing that the girl looks about her age.

"Well, my mama says that girls our age shouldn' be sittin' alone on trains, t'ain't proper."

With that, she gestures toward a large, tidy looking woman seated a few rows back, dressed in a well-worn, but clean calico dress with a floppy bonnet on her head.

"Why you headin' all the way to Wisconsin alone anyway? Name's Mercedes, by the way, Mercedes Jones."

"Santana Lopez."

The girl, Mercedes, continues to look at her as if she expects her to continue. Remembering the question, Santana fiddles with her thumbs in her lap ad mutters morosely, "Visiting family. You?" she asks, hoping to keep the other girls talking so she doesn't have to.

She never has particularly liked people, especially strangers, and positively hates the ones that try to make friends when she obviously doesn't want to be there friend. But she accepts the company, just this once, because anything is better than sitting alone one this train, unable to escape her buzzing thoughts, no matter how fast it speeds along.

At the obvious invitation to continue the conversation, Mercedes launched into a long-winded story about her daddy working on the river and catching a riverboat to meet him in Iowa when they reach the Mississippi in La Crosse. She goes on talking about anything and everything for some time, so Santana is taken by surprise when she stands and says something about arriving soon and how she should go back by her mama. She offers Santana a small smile, which Santana considers not returning, but does, if only to be polite. She tacks on as an afterthought, "Thanks for the company," and leans over to press her head against the window again.

She must have dozed off for a few moments, because she's awakened by the jolt of the train slowing as it pulls into the station in La Crosse. As she collects her things (the one, small bag that hold everything she owns in the world) and steps off the train, she's buffeted by a hot, smoky wind that whirls around the platform.

She looks around slowly, wondering if she'll know her uncle at all if she should see him, or if he'll know her. The letter said he would be fetching her from the station today, May 15th, at four p.m., she's sure of it. She squints in the bright sun, trying to look for something she's never seen before in the bustling crowd, and growing more agitated by the minute. What if he was late, or they decided they didn't want an ill-tempered sixteen year old after all? What's a girl to do in a new town, with only a few dollars to her name? It might be more than most girls her age had, but it was all that was left from selling everything in the apartment worth selling, after she'd settled her father's debts, and it wouldn't last forever.

Her fears are assuaged when she sees a strange man striding towards her determinedly, but not hurriedly. If she had to guess, she's say he was about 35. He's tall, but not overly imposing, with a light brown beard and a hat pulled down low over his brow. His movements are sure but not rushed, as if he knows what need to be done and will do it right, the first time. He stops a few feet in front of her, and seems a bit at a loss for words. He goes with simple.

"Santana Lopez?" His voice is a bit rough, but not loud, as if he's unaccustomed to speaking often. She nods.

"Well, I'm your Uncle John then I suppose," he says, sticking out his hand.

A bit surprised, she takes it, shaking it firmly before letting hers drop to her side again.

"Them's all your things?" he asks as he looks behind her past the small carpetbag, expecting perhaps to see a trunk or at least another bag to hold the rest of her possessions.

"Yessir," she responds quietly, glancing down at her bag and seeing how small and sad it looks once again.

"Well, I'll take it then, come along. We gotta get home before supper, and there's quite a ride ahead of us."

He scoops up her bag under one arm, ignoring the handles, and strides away, looking back only once to make sure Santana is following. He leads her to a simple, uncovered wagon that looks more like a large, modified farm cart than anything. There's a seat in front for the driver than looks a bit small to fit the both of them, and a bench in the wagon box that had obviously been added recently, probably for her benefit. Taking her hand, he helps her up into the wagon and hands her bag to her carefully, as if taking extra precautions with her few worldly possessions. She appreciates that.

"If you've got anything soft to sit on in there, I suggest you do," he advises, "Road gets a mite bumpy, and we'll be a good three hours before we're home. You'll be awful sore in the morning otherwise."

She pulls a ratty red and white quilt out of her bag and he nods. Folding it up, she arranges it on the seat and rests her back against the driver's seat as he swings up into it. With a click to the old horse hitched before the wagon, they're off.

...

_It _must _have been three hours by now!_

They'd entered the forest some time ago, the letter had mentioned that they were a bit isolated, but this was a little extreme after living in a cramped apartment complex in Chicago.

Her uncle was certainly not wrong about the bumpy road either. Santana's mouth tasted like rust from biting her tongue as they hit pothole after pothole, and her body ached. Luckily, the rattling of the wagon saved them from feeling as if they needed to make conversation; she had a feeling that was one thing her uncle didn't have much experience at, and she was always too surly to have much to say.

Turning around to face forward as they rounded a bend in the road, hoping to see something other than where they'd been, she glimpses a few lights. As they draw closer, the lights gain definition as windows, surrounded by the dark silhouette of a cabin. It dawns on her, as they turn of the main road that _this, _finally, was their destination.

Just as the wagon is pulling up to stop the door, it flies open, framing a dark figure in a flood of lamplight from inside the house. Santana doesn't manage to get a good look at her before she hurries outside into the dim twilight to greet them.

"John, you go put the horse away, this poor girl needs to get inside, and don't forget to bring her things when you come in!"

Her uncle assists her in climbing down from the wagon bed with a steady hand. Santana is shocked at the very least when she is swept into a tight embrace as soon as her feet touch the ground. When she's released, she's held out at arms' length for a moment.

"I'm your Aunt Charlotte as I'm sure you've guessed; now let me have a look at you! You look quite a bit like your father, but you have your mother's nose, and her figure as well."

She looked for another moment before loosening her grip, as if searching for that elusive _something_ that her sister left in Santana when she left this earth. Whether she found it or not, Santana isn't sure, she whirled back toward the door too quickly.

"You must be exhausted, dear. John will get your things while I show you around."

With that, she disappeared inside, with Santana following close behind.

...

She found herself standing in a large, rectangular room washed in the warm light of kerosene lamps and smelling of the supper waiting for them; altogether, it gave the place a cozy, homey feel. The walls were thick logs chinked in between to keep out the bitter Wisconsin winters, and there were a few glass paned windows with red and white gingham curtains looking out the front.

On one end of the room stood an impressive stone hearth with two rocking chairs and a rug before it, nearby, a simple table covered in a cloth to match the curtains. On the other end, a stove, wash basin, , butter churn, several large cabinets, and privacy screen (presumably used for bath days) took up most of the space. Her aunt ignores these things and leads Santana directly across the room to a curtain covered doorway she had overlooked at first glance.

"This will be your room," she said, pulling aside the curtain divide and ushering her in, "It's a bit sparse right now, mostly odds and ends, plus the bed your uncle finished before you came. It's all yours though, so you won't have to sleep in the open."

She looked a bit puzzled at Santana's lack of response, until she grinned and assure her, "It's perfect."

And it was.

It appeared to run partway down the length of the large room with two walls of logs and two of boards, one adjacent to the big room, and one presumably adjacent to her aunt and uncle's bedroom. It had a single window looking out the back of the cabin, and Santana could see what appeared to be a small stream running through the trees a little ways away. In the right corner of the room, against the window-wall, stood a simple bed frame with a freshly stuffed straw tick mattress on it, making the room smell fresh and sweet. Next to the bed stood a small shelf that was the perfect height for a bedside table, with a lamp sitting atop it. To the left of the door there was a tall cabinet that she imagined was intended to be used as a wardrobe, and there was a cheerful rag rug on the floor.

Thought the room was sparsely furnished, the overall effect was rather charming, and considerably nicer than the area of the living room that she'd partitioned off with old sheets to be her bedroom in Chicago. For the first time since boarding the train that morning, Santana felt just a bit of the tension she'd been carrying ease. She's brought out of her thoughts by a gentle voice.

"Let's get you some supper, dear."

When they return to the great room, her uncle is just hanging his hat on a peg near the door, and her aunt hurries over to the stove to fetch the plates of food that have been warming there. Santana takes this time to study her aunt, who hasn't stopped moving since she arrived.

She's a small woman, probably 3 or 4 inches shorter than Santana, with glossy brown hair braided and pinned up. She has tiny hands that always seem to be moving, flying from one task to another, always with a purpose. Her face is kind, you but for the fine laugh lines and crinkles about her dark brown eyes that deepen when she smiles. She has a ruddy complexion from time spent in the sun, and her overall appearance is one of delicate strength; it's obvious who runs the household.

She's also a fantastic cook. After such a long day, Santana has no trouble eating everything put in front of her: corn bread and butter, roasted chicken, and a baked potato. Full and relaxed, she makes to rise when her aunt does, to help with the dishes. She always had to do them at home anyway or they'd sit in the sink for days, and she wanted to make a good impression.

She sways a bit when she rises too quickly, the fatigue of the day, and of the past few weeks finally catching up with her. Her aunt tsks.

"Look at you, asleep on your feet. Go to bed, dear; I think I can manage the dishes myself for one night."

Santana shuffles toward her door and turns at the last minute, facing her aunt and uncle again. She might not have exactly wanted to come, especially under the circumstances that made it necessary, but they seemed like some of the rare, genuinely kind people in the world. She knew she wasn't one of those, what she'd gone through in her short life had made her too hard for that. Caring about people, trusting people, it got you hurt. But maybe, just maybe, it would be different here. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she knows that there is _something_ for her here.

Neither of them notices her look until she speaks, louder than she has all day.

"Thank you."

They look up in time to see the curtain whisked back into place.

...

Seeing her things next to her bed, she decides to unpack, seeing as it should only take a minute or two. She takes out her nightdress first, changing into it so she can hang up her best dress, which she'd worn for traveling, along with the work dress she'd brought. Those, in addition to a coat that's a size too small, are the only articles of clothing she brought with her, and she hangs them in the wardrobe. After spreading her tattered patchwork quilt on the bed over the top of the nice, new-looking one her aunt had left, she reaches down to the bottom of her bag. She brought one keepsake with her from Chicago, nothing else was really worth remembering; setting the photo of her young mother on the bedside table, she snaps shut the floodgates threatening to release the feeling she's kept so carefully controlled.

Her eyes are nearly closing of their own accord at this point, and she barely has the energy to push her bag under her bed before she flops down on it and tumbles headlong into slumber.

...

**A/N: I want to know if anyone wants me to continue, so review if you want! Helpful suggestions will be taken into consideration, and questions will be answered. If you don't like it, then don't waste your time writing about it. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi guys! It's good to get some feedback, for my first story, even if it doesn't seem like much at first! So a big thanks to sadpanda15, Lolathe17th, and slbsp-33 for being the first ones to show interest in my story!**

**I probably won't usually update this quickly, but I already had the second chapter written and I just couldn't go to sleep with it buzzing around in my head, so here it is! We'll be meeting Brittany in this chapter :)**

**One last thing, there were some convention errors in ch. 1. I tried to be more careful this time, but I'm a really awful typist, so I apologize in advance.**

Chapter 2

_It's late when she walks in the door, and the acrid smell of alcohol burn her nose as soon as she walks in. She can usually keep him from drinking so much if she's home, but lately Mrs. Schuester has been keeping her later and later, insisting that she's pregnant, and need help with absolutely _everything_. And the later she gets home, the emptier the bottle is; she could probably set a clock to the amount left by now._

_Tonight, though, something seems different. The smell is stronger, for one, and there was no drunken jeering at the radio chatter. Walking into the living room, she can see why. _

_Her papí lies limp on the couch, jaw slack, arm dangling off the side, almost brushing the empty bottle lying on its side on the floor. Realizing that the smell was coming from who knows how much moonshine soaking into the filthy carpet, she hurried over to get rid of the bottle and sop up what she can._

_As she approaches the couch, though, she gets an uneasy feeling. Something's wrong. There's no rumbling, drunken snoring rattling in his throat, in fact, his chest isn't moving at all. Reaching for the bottle, she brushes his hand. The contact sends her stumbling back. It's stiff, and ice cold._

_Papí? Papí!_

_... _

Santana wakes with a start, chest heaving, eyes wide, until she takes in her surroundings.

_Goddamnit._

Not even a complete change of scenery can stop the memories from seeping into her dreams.

She rises and pulls on her old housework dress, a soft, light, simple red calico with a skirt reaching to her ankles and small, puffed, off- the-shoulder sleeves. She knows she'll sleep no more that day, though a glance out her window shows the sky isn't even beginning to grey with dawn. Leaving her hair loose, she steals quietly across the floor, and out into the early morning air.

Moving has always calmed her after dreams like that, although wandering the streets of Chicago in the early mornings may have been ill-advised. The air is cool for May, and she can feel goosebumps prickling her arms and her legs.

She can hear what must be her uncle puttering around in the barn, so she creeps around the other side of the cottage, not sure if he would approve of her early jaunt. She continues around the back of the cabin, toward the stream she'd seen from her window.

She heard it before she saw it, a cheerful gurgling, and the closer she got, the more pronounced it became; finally reaching the water's edge, she realizes that it wasn't really a small stream at all, but was about 15 feet across, and maybe a foot or two deep.

There's a footpath running along the bank that she hadn't noticed before, and, intrigued, and decides that she should have enough time to follow it for a while before the sun came up, if only to distract her from the memories trying so hard to escape from their carefully constructed cage.

...

She hasn't been walking long, maybe ten minutes or so, when she comes across a dilapidated split rail fence. The sky is just beginning to lighten now, and bird calls are echoing through the trees, mingling with the gentle murmur of the brook, which had widened out into a shallow ford.

Santana vaults over the fence, assuming from the look of it that its owners were long gone, and approaches the edge of the water. The mud bank is churned up, and the weeds are fairly short here.

_Deer maybe?_

Regardless, it looks like whatever they were are gone. It's quiet and peaceful here, so she sits down on the spongy, mossy ground on the edge of the mud and just watches the stream gurgle over rocks, branches, and other debris that was deposited here when the current slowed.

All at once, she hears the bushes rustle just on the other side of the ford. Her mind flashes to all the awful things that she'd ever heard of living in the woods, panthers, wolves, bears! She was alone, what could she do against something like that? What _should _she do? She rises slowly, weight on the balls of her feet, poised to run, still unsure if she should.

Every nerve in her body is taut, stretched like a fiddle string, until a huge brown head followed by pair of broad shoulders pushes out of the brush. Deep, gentle chocolate eyes hooded with coarse black lashes peer at her curiously, as if they can't seem to understand how this girl came to be in her pasture, interrupting her breakfast.

_A cow. Good Lord, I almost ran for my life from a cow. I suppose that would explain the fence though…_

She relaxes again, still standing, looking at the beast now standing partly in the stream, rear hooves on the bank. She's never been so close to a cow before, living her whole life in the city; she's so absorbed in watching the huge animal stoop to sip the water at its feet, that she stumbled backwards, startled, when a quiet, "Hello," breaks the near-silence of the morning.

Wide eyes snap up the source of the voice, who had emerged from the trees behind what Santana assumed was her cow. Santana's eyes dart to the fence for a moment, considering whether or not to run, and then back to the girl standing in front of her.

She looked about Santana's age, dressed in a pink dress so faded and tattered that it appeared white in some places and pink it others, with an edge of brown dust around the hem. The skirt and sleeves were too short, and Santana could see scratches from the briar patches she'd just struggled through criss-crossing her arms, legs, and bare feet. Looking up from her bare legs, Santana takes in golden hair, snarled but still hanging in waves almost to her waist, framing one of the most striking faces she'd ever seen.

A pale complexion, dusted with freckles and shaded a subtle pink across her cheeks from the sun, a delicate mouth turned up just slightly in a shy, questioning smile. The last thing she saw were those eyes. Startlingly blue, framed in dark golden lashes, they were slanted just a bit, giving them just the right amount of unique allure. Captivating.

Unaware of her (discomfort, uneasiness, shock, giddiness? She wasn't really sure how she was feeling right now), the other girl begins to speak.

"Um, hello, I was just looking for Betsy. She wanders off sometimes you see, and she needs to be milked. I'm Brittany, and I've never seen you before, did Betsy ask you to meet her here? I think she wanders off so much because she's trying to find someone to take her with them when they pass through, she gets bored of the same old pasture day after day after day, but she doesn't have a bad home, we're friends and I love her and I'd miss her if she left, and so would Lord Tubbington! He doesn't really have anyone else for company in the barn because I'm not allowed to sleep in there; I have to sleep inside, even though sometimes the barn is warmer in the winter."

Santana just blinks at her for a moment. She had just been told, in the sweetest most innocent voice she'd ever heard, that this girl was friends with a cow, a Lord lived in her barn, and she seemed completely sincere. Looking back at her wide eyes, Brittany seems to remember something.

"Oh! What's your name? Papa always says that I talk too much, I get ahead of myself and forget about whoever it is that I'm talking to, but I think it's because I don't get new people to talk to too much, so it's like the words build up and up and up until I start letting them out and I can't stop!"

She said it all in one breath, and by the end the words were running together so quickly that Santana wasn't quite sure what had been said. Brittany clapped her hand over her mouth, looking for all her talk exactly like she couldn't control what came out. It should've looked ridiculous, but somehow, she looked incredibly cute. Santana decides to disregard most of it and just answer the original question.

"I'm Santana."

Brittany grins, and it's probably one of the most sincere smiles Santana's ever seen in her entire life.

"Hi Santana! Why are you sitting in the woods in our cow pasture so early in the morning that the sun's not even awake yet?"

_I guess it is an odd situation to stumble upon._

"I woke up early and decided to go for a walk, the path led here. It was pretty, so I decided to stay."

Brittany nods knowingly.

"This is my quiet spot. I come here when-"

She stops and a cloud of emotion sweeps across her countenance. It was dark, and Santana can't help but feel that it doesn't belong on such a bright face.

"It's just where I come sometimes. Where were you walking from?"

"My aunt and uncle live down that way, I moved in with them yesterday."

"Oh!" recognition flashed in blue eyes, "The Nelsons! That's great! I've never had someone my age live so close before, we could be friends! I've never had a person-friend before-" she stops for a moment to wade into the stream and place her hands over the cow's ears, "But I've always wanted one. I love Betsy and Lord T, but they don't always wanna do friends stuff."

Splashing the rest of the way through the water, she grabbed one of Santana's hands in her both of hers. She's taller than Santana, but somehow still manages to look like a hopeful child in that moment.

"You will be my friend, won't you Santana?"

She asks the question surprisingly shyly, as if she expects a quick "No." Were it anybody else, that's probably exactly what she would've gotten from Santana, but something about Brittany had her saying, "Of course," without sparing it a second thought. Then Brittany's smiling that smile again, and she knows she was right.

Glancing at the sky, she sees the sun just peeking over the horizon; more time had passed than she thought. Brittany seems to notice at the same time and says, "I really gotta get Betsy home now, Daddy gets snappy sometimes when I dawdle. Will you be here again tomorrow morning, or tonight?"

"Tomorrow morning," Santana replies, "My aunt might have me busy tonight, I'm not sure."

Brittany hadn't stopped smiling.

"It's nice to have a friend, I'm really glad I met you, Santana."

She stoops and pecks Santana on the cheek before splashing back across the ford. Santana is still standing there, fingers raised to her cheek, as if she could feel the prickling heat there, when Brittany and Betsy disappear into the trees.

"Me too."

**A/N: I realize that Brittany might seem a little forward, but that's just Brittany, and as we now know, she doesn't have much experience with people, so can we blame her? Of course not, because she's adorable. **

**Next chapter will be from Britt's POV, finding out a little more about what her home is like.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi again everyone! Like I've said before, I'm pretty bad at uploading consistently, but here's chapter 3! We'll be in Brittany's POV for about half of this chapter, and are going to learn a bit about her home life and backstory, then we'll jump back over to Santana.**

**Once again, I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes, hopefully I caught them all.**

**So anyway, thanks for reading, and enjoy!**

Chapter 3

Brittany's lips tingled where they'd brushed Santana's cheek. Should she have done that? You care about friends, and you kiss people you care about, right? Like she kisses her ma before she leaves the house. But kissing Santana was nothing like kissing her ma…maybe it was because they were friends? Yeah, that must've been it.

_Santana_

The name fits her. Unique, beautiful, exotic, everything she was. Brittany hadn't ever seen anyone like her before. Well, she hadn't seen many people at all, she could count the times she'd been off her own land on one hand, but Santana was exceptionally unusual. Raven black hair that spilled over her shoulders, gleaming even in the early morning light, skin just the color of the caramel her daddy brought home from town sometimes, and her lips, just a shade darker, and in a permanent pout.

Her eyes though, they were the most interesting of all. They were dark, darker than any eyes she'd ever seen, but deep, like when she looked into the coffee pot in the morning and there wasn't a bottom. Brittany hadn't ever liked coffee, she made it for her daddy every morning, it was too bitter for her, but somehow it fit Santana's eyes, they looked a little bitter too. As kind as she'd been to Brittany, there was something about her that made her look closed off, dark, and angry. Like she'd been carrying too much for too long, with nobody to shoulder the burden for her sometimes when she got tired. Besides, you don't go out walking so early in the morning unless you're getting away from something. She would know, she did it all the time.

Maybe, since they were friends now, Santana would tell her what put the walls up behind her eyes, and let her help carry it for a while. After all, that what friends do right? They talk, and they help each other. Brittany wasn't really completely sure, she'd never had a real live person as a friend before.

Lost in her thoughts, she was a bit surprised to see that she'd reached her destination, the back side of the barn. Really, it was more of a shed, desperately in need of repairs. It housed Betsy and her calf Caramel at night, plus a few chickens and her cat, Lord Tubbington, and it hadn't really been touched since it was built when daddy first bought their land before she was born. It was looking a bit worse for the wear, especially around the roof, which leaker when it rained, but it was still built snugly, and with the cows and the clean hay in the small space, it was a great deal warmer than outside when Brittany finally ushered Betsy in.

She got right to the milking, knowing that her daddy would be up soon, and he wouldn't be happy that she didn't have breakfast started yet. He would know she'd been dawdling looking for Betsy again.

"Brittany!"

Speak of the devil. Although she didn't actually say anything, so does it really count? Apparently it does. Luckily she'd finished milking, and she snatched three eggs from the nest boxes on the walls as she ran toward the house.

"Good morning Daddy! Um, Betsy wandered off again and Caramel was tied in the barn so I couldn't follow the sound of the bell since she's the only one wearing one and so I had to go find her and…"

"How many times have I told you girl?! If you put her in and latched the door at night instead of just letting her wander in, we wouldn't have to do this! It isn't really that hard to figure out. Just make breakfast girl, sometimes I swear that's all you're good for, your head's as empty as your mother's."

He turned away and walked outside.

"Call when it's ready!"

Brittany felt awful. She didn't want to disappoint him, she knew she wasn't very smart but she tried to get all her chores done as well as she could. She pulled out a large pan and set it on the old potbellied stove, blackened and grimy with old grease that she could never seem to get off. While the pan heated for the eggs, she walked into the lean-to that had been added onto the little house for her parents' to use as a bedroom.

"Ma? You awake?"

Her ma was sitting in the bed, looking at Brittany blankly. Her bright blue eyes, so similar to Brittany's own, were bleary, and her once-bright golden hair hung thin and stringy around her face, Brittany would need to wash it again soon.

She'd once been beautiful, and Brittany knew she was a spitting image of her ma, but ever since she'd fallen down the cellar stairs when Brittany was eight, she hadn't been the same. She didn't do anything but sit quietly, or sometimes she'd hum. She didn't cook or clean or mend clothes, so Brittany had learned to do it herself, because she had to.

Brittany still wasn't sure why her ma had fallen, she had always been sure-footed, graceful even; she'd loved to dance. Brittany supposed she'd gotten that from her mother as well. All she remembered from that day was that her mother had been fighting with her father about something or other, and they'd gone outside while Brittany shelled peas for dinner. She'd heard the yelling escalate, and then a shout. When she'd run outside to see what had happened, her ma was at the bottom of the stairs and her father was standing there, with a look in his eye that Brittany didn't recognize.

_Your mother fell Brittany. She tripped and fell. She hit her head pretty hard, but she'll be ok. I'll bring her in. Go finish dinner Brittany._

Brittany hadn't understood why her mother would even be going down the cellar stairs, she wasn't even carrying anything to bring down, but her daddy said so, so it must've happened. When her father had brought her ma in, she had slept on the bed for a long time, and when she woke up, she wasn't the same. She just wasn't there. There was none of the independence, not of the spark and bounce that Brittany had always seen in her ma. She was just empty.

And that was how it'd been for the past eight years. Every morning, Brittany got up, did morning chores, made breakfast, got her ma dressed, coaxed her out to sit in the main room on her rocker, or sometimes outside if it was nice out. Then she did what needed doing, and in the evening she got her ma ready and put to bed before her daddy came in from evening chores. Sometimes she got the odd sense that it was backwards, her taking care of her ma, but it was just how it had to be, so she did it.

Once her ma was situated for the day, the pan was heated so she cracked the eggs into it, and fried them, over easy, then threw a piece of bread into the ban to fry to soak up the extra butter and bits of the one yoke that had broken when she flipped them.

"Daddy, breakfast!"

Her daddy sat down quietly, wolfed down his breakfast, and went back outside, leaving the dishes on the table.

...

"Aunt Charlotte?"

"Yes dear?"

Santana had just sat down to supper with her aunt and uncle after a long day of getting settled. She'd mended her old coat and dress so that they looked at least somewhat presentable. They'd needed it sorely, after cooking, cleaning, and mending for other people all day, the last thing she'd felt like doing when she got home was making her own clothes look halfway decent. After that, her aunt had shown her around the farm a bit, introduced her to all the animals, showed her where everything was for cooking, requesting that if she woke up early, she get breakfast started.

On top of that they did all the regular chores, so by now, she was feeling a bit worn out. But she'd been meaning to ask about any 'neighbors' (Brittany) all day.

"You seem pretty isolated out here, do you have any other people around, neighbors?"

She tried to keep any hope or suspicion out of her voice, keeping it casually curious.

"Well, not really. I mean, I suppose if I there were some sort of emergency there's the Fabray's about 4 miles back toward town, but that's a little more than an hours' walk."

Santana mentally praised herself for managing to keep her voice and expression neutral at the obvious lie. There was no way her aunt didn't know about Brittany and her family (she never did get her last name) with them living so close.

"Nobody else, nobody closer?"

Her aunt looked a little indecisive, eyes darting toward her uncle, who didn't seem to even be paying attention to the whole exchange, just more or less tuning them out and enjoying his food.

"Well, I suppose there is the Pierce's, down the road a ways, but I'd really prefer you go the Fabray's if you plan to go visiting or something. Their daughter Lucy is about your age I think."

Santana arranged her features into an appropriate, pleasant, blank expression.

"Well, maybe sometime next week we could head down that way together."

Her aunt smiled at the request as she rose to being clearing the table, hands flying to stack plates, cups and silverware neatly so she could carry it all at once.

"We'll do that dear, definitely."

...

After supper, her aunt sat down with her knitting near the window, where enough daylight still filtered through to make it easy to see without a lamp. Her uncle pushed his chair back from the table and began whittling of a small piece of wood, and Santana stood for a moment, unsure of what exactly she should be doing.

"Oh, dear, you don't have anything do you? Here, let me show you something. Do you read?"

Santana nodded as her aunt hurried over toward her bedroom. Leading her in, she gestured toward the wall next to the door.

"Pick one!"

Santana's eyes widened. She'd never seen so many books anywhere but a library. The wall was made of shelving that was the same wood as the walls, seven shelves, each about five feet wide, reaching from the door frame to the corner of the room, and each one filled with books! Big ones, small ones, leather bound, paperback, ornate, plain, school primers, novels, children's stories, anything she could think of! Her surprise must have been obvious, because her aunt immediately began to explain.

"I used to be a schoolteacher, I love to read, and loved to teach kids to read. John met me because I taught one of his nephews. He was in town visiting his brother when I sent a note home with him one day asking for a conference. Some of the boys in class had been rowdy and I wanted to speak to their parents about it. John came with his brother Matthew, and that was that. When I moved out here, I insisted we bring as many books as possible, because I knew how lonely it would probably get, and books can be wonderful company."

Her aunts eyes had misted over in the telling of the story, Santana could almost see the memories flickering though her head as her aunt shook it a bit to clear it.

"Don't let me get all nostalgic like that dear, you'll be stuck listening to stories for hours. I'll just let you be, pick any one you like. Since you obviously won't be able to attend school out here, and I probably didn't attend much farther than you, you can read a bit at night to keep your mind sharp."

She left the room as Santana continued to simply stand and stare at the boon that had just been presented to her. Reading had been her favorite subject in school. It was solitary and didn't require playmates, so she had devoured books while her classmates learned the intricacies of elementary friendships. Managing to snap herself out her stupor with a supreme effort of will, and began scanning titles. One of the first ones she spots catches her eye, on the top shelf.

_Robinson Crusoe_

She'd wanted to read it when she was younger, but hadn't had the chance beforeshe had to drop out of school. She snatched it off the shelf and cradled it to her chest for a minute, before realizing that nobody was going to try to take it from her. Grinning, she waltzed into the main room.

"I'm going to go read in my room for a bit and go to bed. Goodnight."

Receiving noncommittal murmurs from her aunt and uncle who both seemed fairly absorbed in their tasks, Santana breezes into her room. Pulling off her dress she quickly threw on a nightdress and flopped onto her bed, flicking the book open to the first page.

_The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York_

_By Daniel Defoe_

Her mind flashes to Brittany before she immerses herself in the story completely. She'd see her again in the morning. The thought makes her smile, before a cloud of confusion sweeps through her mind.

_Why did Aunt Charlotte seem so evasive about the Pierce's at dinner? That has to be Brittany's family. Strange…_

She dismisses the thought soon though, and quickly loses herself alongside Mr. Crusoe on a remote tropical island, falling asleep to the chatter of birds the constant ebb and flow of cerulean waves.

**A/N: So what did you guys think? Poor Brittany, right? Anyway, let me know how you're liking the story so far! I'm not sure when my next update will be since I'll be traveling for the holidays, but I'll try to get it up in the next few weeks!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know, I'm horrible at updating! I'm sorry! I've been super busy lately, so when I finally did have time I lacked the motivation to just sit down and write. But it's done now! Ok, so this chapter is the second meeting between Brittany and Santana,and we're going to be jumping back and forth between POVs. **

***Fun fact, I really did/do refer to my best friend as "sunshine condensed into a person." If you met her, you'd understand. I thought it would fit Brittany perfectly. That is all. Enjoy.**

Brittany's eyes flicker open and stare into the darkness of the cabin for just a moment. Her bed was basically a roll of blankets that she spread out in the main room each night, and cleaned up each morning, so she could easily see that there was no light filtering in under the door yet.

She can't help but grin when she remembers that Santana had promised to meet her at the creek again this morning. Groaning, she struggles to her feet.

Everything aches. Her back, shoulders, and legs are stuff and swollen with welts. The damn bucket handle had broken yesterday while she was carrying water inside for dinner, and the entire bucket had spilled all over the floor, soaking the rugs and making a mess of the hearth. Her father roared at her to clean it up, and continued to explain to her why this wouldn't have happened if she wasn't so god-damned useless while she cleaned. Afterwards, he'd driven the point home with a belt.

She shakes her head at the memory. She deserved it, she should've felt the handle start to give, and caught it.

Stretching the kinks out of her muscles, she rolls up her bed and leans it in the corner. She should have quite a bit of time, her father usually didn't wake up until after sunrise. Silently stealing across the floor, she edges the door open and slips out into the cool morning air.

...

Santana curls her toes into the spongy moss by the side of the stream and tightens her hold on her knees. The air is damp and not exactly warm, but it's refreshing, and she finds herself looking forward to the day.

_She didn't forget, did she? Of course not…_

Squinting, she struggles to detect any movement in the trees. Seeing none, she decides to crack open her book while she waits, since there's just enough light to make out the letters now.

_"At length, I spied a little cove on the right shore of the creek, to which with great pain and difficulty I guided my raft…"_

Completely absorbed in the paper and ink world, she's startled by a loud splash just in front of her. Closing the book on an old hair-ribbon she's using as a bookmark, she looks up to see Brittany grinning as she makes her way across the stream. Her stomach flips.

_Why am I so excited to see her? I only met her yesterday._

And yet, the sight of her new friend, face flushed from running, dress splashed almost to her waist, cheeks rounded in an ear-to ear smile, sets her nerves alight. Brittany flops down next to her and meets her eyes. "Hi," she breathes.

...

Brittany had thundered through the woods, ignoring the sting of branches scraping her legs, and sending birds chattering to the treetops in an effort to reach the stream as quickly as possible. She didn't slow when she reached the water and saw Santana sitting on the other side, hunched over something in her lap. Her dress ends up soaked in her haste, but she can't bring herself to care.

_I didn't make it up! There's a real live girl, my age, sitting here, waiting to talk to me, to be my friend!_

Plopping down beside her, panting from the run, she meets dark eyes and chokes out "Hi."

Santana's smile stretches wider than Brittany thought possible, when she answers, "Hello."

They both sit there for a moment, not knowing what to say.

Brittany glances down first.

"What's that?" She asks, gesturing toward the book Santana is clinging to.

"Oh! Robison Crusoe."

Brittany looks at her blankly.

"It's a book about a sailor who gets shipwrecked and has to live on a deserted island by himself, I just started it last night. I take it you've never read it?"

Brittany's face flushes with shame and she leans away, fiddling with her hands in her lap.

"I can't read."

"Oh," Santana's face falls, then brightens again. "Well, I'll teach you! I'll read this one to you, and teach you letters, I bet you'll be able to read it by the time we finish this book! My aunt used to be a teacher, she even has some old elementary school primers we could use."

Brittany watches her eyes shine with excitement as she waves the books for emphasis, and can't help but smile a little. "That would be perfect. My daddy just never had a chance to teach me, I have to take care of things, not much extra time for learning. He always meant to, really, he just never had a chance."

She doesn't want Santana to think that her daddy didn't teach her because she was stupid. Then she'll never want to be friends.

...

Santana couldn't believe that Brittany had never had a chance to learn to read! She couldn't imagine her life without it, it would have been miserable. For so many years, her only friends had been carefully constructed in her head out of letters strung together by someone else's thoughts; now that she had a real, live breathing one, she wanted to share her paper and ink friends with her.

There's something flitting through the cerulean depths of Brittany's eyes, something shameful that she is trying to hide, and Santana wants to know what it is. She wants to know why Brittany seemed to _insist _that her father really had wanted to teach her to read, and just "never had the chance." It seemed odd to her that a father wouldn't make time to teach his only daughter something as simple as the alphabet.

"Do want me to start reading to you today, and we can worry about a real lesson tonight?"

She uncovers the book she'd been clinging to when a blonde head nods enthusiastically.

"Alright, well, so far a sailor from England names Robinson Crusoe has been washed ashore on an island, the sole survivor of a shipwreck. He's constructed a raft and started to explore the island he's stranded on, and scavenge anything useful from what's left of the debris…"

Santana reads until the golden light of an early morning sun filters through the branches around and floods into the clearing they're seated in. Realizing how late it is, Brittany practically leaps o her feet, before her face pinches and she gasps in pain. That's when Santana sees them. Pink and purple, raw welts stretching across both Brittany's bare legs, on display with the short dress. They look like they continue up under the skirt, and from the way her back is hunched, Santana guesses the cover up to her shoulders as well.

"Brittany," she whispers, setting the book on the ground and standing up next to her friend, "What happened?"

Her friend is stooped, trying to keep the stiff flesh of her back from moving too much, so her normal height advantage is lessened until it's almost nonexistent. Santana tilts her head up and is surprised to see her friend's eyes shining with tears.

"It's nothing. I just, I made a mess yesterday because I wasn't careful enough, and…I deserved it. It happens sometimes, it's fine. I'm fine"

Santana wraps her arms gingerly around her neck. Who would want to hurt this wonderful girl? For God's sake, she's like sunshine condensed into a person! What could she possibly have done that would warrant being beaten until she was stiff all over?

"It's not fine Britt. Your dad did this? I know that sometimes kids get whipped, but this? Let me see, come on."

Brittany stepped back and turned around, sweeping her hair over one shoulder to uncover the buttons running down the back of her dress. Fumbling with the tiny buttons in cold fingers, she slowly opened up the back of the tattered dress, pushing it off pale shoulders, or what should have been pale shoulders. Santana only has four buttons undone when she stops to take a shaky breath.

...

Brittany doesn't know what her back looks like, but she knows it probably isn't good from the soft gasp she hears from behind her. She wants to leap to her daddy's defense, explain that it was her fault, make Santana understand that _she deserved it_, but something told her that it would be useless. So she just stands still and feels her friend's fingers skimming gently along her back, barely brushing skin as she follows the map of welts across her shoulders and upper back. She relaxes a bit when she feels buttons being fastened again, thinking that perhaps now it was over. She could avoid talking about it again.

Suddenly she stiffens, feeling warm breath stirring the hairs at the base of her neck. She breaks out in goose-bumps as she feels Santana lean closer and closer, until her lips are pressed gently over the mottled, purple bruising directly under where her last button would be. She immediately misses the contact when she feels her lean back and fasten it. She turns around and meets dark eyes that look infinitely deep. For a moment, there are no walls, nothing she's hiding, and all Brittany can see is tenderness, and a little of her own inexplicable shame and pain reflected there.

There's nothing really that can be said, so she breaks their eye contact, glancing down and her filthy feet, and murmurs, "I'll see you tonight, after supper?"

"Yeah," Santana replies, equally as softly.

She turns slowly, and begins the trek home, which, judging from how high the sun was now, was not going to end well.

...

Santana stands and watches the trees for a few moments after Brittany is out of sight. She had never seen anything like that inflicted by someone who claimed to _love_ the recipient. Bar fights? Sure. Gang violence? No problem. But a father beating his daughter until her entire back was the mess of mottled, raw flesh that she'd just seen? She can't comprehend it.

For all his shortcomings, and they were numerous, her papí had never _once_ laid a hand on her, let alone laid into her with a belt. She shivered. There was something going on in that house, and she was going to find out what she could, hopefully tonight.

With that thought in mind, she turns back toward her aunt and uncle's home. Her home.

**A/N: So What did everybody think? Poor Brittany. Hopefully I'll be posting again ASAP, but no guarantees.**


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